In a backwoods town Lived Deacon Brown, And he was a miser old; He would trust no bank, So he dug, and sank In the ground a box of gold, Down deep in the ground a box of gold. He hid his gold, As has been told, He remembered that he did it; But sad to say, On the very next day, He forgot just where he hid it: To find his gold he tried and tried Till he grew faint and sick, and died. Then on each dark and gloomy night A form in phosphorescent white, A genuine hair-raising sight, Would wander through the town. And as it slowly roamed around, With a spade it dug each foot of ground; So the folks about Said there was no doubt 'Twas the ghost of Deacon Brown. Around the church This Ghost would search, And whenever it would see The passers-by Take wings and fly It would laugh in ghostly glee, Hee, hee!—it would laugh in ghostly glee. And so the town Went quickly down, For they said that it was haunted; And doors and gates, So the story states, Bore a notice, "Tenants wanted." And the town is now for let, But the ghost is digging yet. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THIRD BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 20 by THOMAS CAMPION THE CHARGE AT SANTIAGO by WILLIAM HAMILTON HAYNE GLOIRE DE DIJON by DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE A NICE CORRESPONDENT by FREDERICK LOCKER-LAMPSON THE SPELL OF THE YUKON by ROBERT WILLIAM SERVICE |